


Dmitry Petrovich: Rain Beats

by skysonfire



Series: Sean Bean [6]
Category: Legends - Fandom
Genre: Car Sex, F/M, I'm Sorry Robert Littell, Inspired by Sean Bean, One Shot Collection, Russian Mafia, Smut with a Story, sex in the rain
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-12-09
Updated: 2015-12-09
Packaged: 2018-05-05 20:12:32
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 573
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5388746
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/skysonfire/pseuds/skysonfire





	Dmitry Petrovich: Rain Beats

The rain pounds in the dark; the pavement drowning in the deluge that the weather brings. He takes the car to a stop in an alley with few lights — just enough to wiggle an orange din through the shield that dances distortions that the water forces. It is cold and we are wet from running to the safety of the mobile sanctuary where prying eyes are few and privacy is fleeting.

I am a mess — my hair a tousled, damp disaster and my dress, nothing more than wilting gauze. Dmitry, though … the wet enjoys him as it rolls down his slick hair and under his collar.

No one wears a suit like Dmitry does, and even used by the day and the elements and circumstance, he is black and white and pressed and starched. He is rough and smoky and deft and brilliant.

And he is such a criminal.

He smiles at me that boyish grin and raises his eyebrows. “You are already breathing hard,” he observes, his voice low and saturated with that Russian sound that I both abhor and adore.

“Bugger off,” I respond, and I shift over the ridiculously appointed console, straddling his hips and crushing his mouth with my lips.

He takes off whatever is left of the gloss on my mouth and bites at me as I pull his tie loose. His palms work their way up my thighs and I know that he is trying to romance me. We don’t need to pretend, though. It’s not like that. Not between he and I.  
I free the silk of his tie and drape it about the back of my neck. My fingers encourage the buttons of his shirt ajar and I run my tongue at his neck, just behind his ear. He inhales sharply and I can feel his need swelling between my legs.

“I would take you to bed,” he pauses to snicker at me as he unfastens the front of my dress. “You deserve more.” He kisses my mouth hungrily as I fight at the fine leather of his belt. “Hot bath, silk sheets.”

God, I can’t stand his voice sometimes.

“Shut up,” I bark at him, and he responds by pulling at my waist and gripping at my throat with his mouth. I kick my head back and let him rake at me with his teeth and the slash of the stubble on his chin.

My breasts rub against his shirt and he pushes my panties aside as I withdraw him. He wicks at me to feel how ready I am, but I don’t wait. I sink down onto him and rock my hips against him greedily. I want to feel him, as far as he can go, and he pushes up against me so that I am taking everything that he has. I am so wet and jealous and disappointed and fiery and angry.

And I am such a whore for him. Goddamnit.

I moan in contest with the intrusive beating of the rain and he works into my back with his fingertips.

“I would,” he starts, and I lower my eyes to his. Those blue fire lying nightmares that I love so well, so silently, to keep him from knowing.

“I know,” I pause and he kisses me sweetly.

“Fuck you, Dmitry,” I respond.

I grit my teeth and he grabs my wrists with a frustrated huff.

The rain pounds in the dark.


End file.
